The Aftermath
by carinims01
Summary: "The prophets did not lie, for there, Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain." Arthur Pendragon's death has always been marked out for him, even if he didn't know it, and Merlin, his friend and brother, the man who would easily give his life for Arthur, couldn't stop Destiny from fulfilling her deadly prophecy. Arthur fell. Can Merlin still save him? *No Slash. Reveal.*
1. Faltering Steps

Disclaimer; IDOM

Firstly, hey guy's! Secondly, so alright, I have literally been typing this for three days straight because I was so inspired by 'The Kindness of Strangers.' (5x10) I saw it Saturday, got the idea to write this while I was ranting about what I want to season finale to be like with a friend on fanfiction (special thanks to CaptainOzone for pre-reading/beta-ing this firstly, and then another thanks for putting up with me and all the wonderful encouragement given!) on Saturday night and it was all I could think of as I fell asleep, so _then_, Sunday morning I started writing and finally finished last night. I waited so that I could take a step back from it and read it over again before posting it. And I honestly hope you're hard pressed to find errors because Oz and I went through this with a fine-took comb, but even so, I apologise in advance if you should find any. :D

Anyway, after boring you with that, this was _supposed_ to be a one-shot and ended up being thirty-five pages long so I've split it into three parts! I hope you like Part 1! :)

* * *

"_Let loose the hounds of war, let the dread fire of the last Priestess reign down from angry skies. For brother will slaughter brother, for friend will murder friend as the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann. The prophets do not lie, for there; Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain."_

* * *

The destruction and carnage wrought by that fateful day was unfathomable; bodies littered the blood-strewn ground as far as you could see on the plains of Camlann like water droplets in a vast ocean. The armored and bloodied bodies of soldiers and the red-caped Knights of Camelot were almost inseparable from the countless number of leather-armoured and pelt-caped Saxons, both armies' swords and arrows and bolts as countless as the men's motionless forms.

The moaning and screams of the dying men could be heard, some would say later, from as far as a mile away. Ravens as black as a moonless night picked at the bodies of other men long dead and watched others, waiting for them to meet their assured end. The smells of the already decaying bodies were mixed with the metallic tang of blood and burnt flesh in the stale air.

Flags hung limp on their poles, wavering and snapping now and then when a small trickle of a breeze unsuccessfully tried to stir and clear the heavy air. Camelot's red-encrusted golden dragons were unsegregated from the Saxon's flags of crimson, twisting snakes that writhed upon a black backdrop.

The tall yellow grass that had previously occupied the plains of Camlann was crushed beneath the deadweight of men. Other patches were burnt by the formerly wild and raging fires of both Kilgharrah's and Aithusa's making. The flames had died now, but they'd completed their task of burning the now deep blood-red skies, only the linings of the clouds lit a light pink by the setting sun's dying rays.

Merlin walked carefully through the maze of men, the red robe of his disguise soaking up loose pools of blood at the seams and dragging grass as it brushed the ground. A tear rolled out of his perplexingly deep blue eye and was drunk by his long, grit-filled white beard after it fell from his still-high cheekbone.

A dreading pit lie in his stomach and his heart had risen into his throat to create and emotion-filled lump. More tears slowly rolled down his cheeks as his eyes wandered the carnage for his friends. Thank God he hadn't seen them yet, but was he just fighting the inevitable by holding out hope?

His smooth white staff _clink_ed as it collided with a scattered stone and the man's old limbs ached with the waiting anticipation as living-nightmares ran through his head. His twisted ankle shot a pang of pain up his leg with every step and his weary hand tightened around his step as he navigated around a larger rock that was scattered with dead grass and scratch marks. But…

_There_.

Bile rode in his throat and a dagger of fear stabbed his heart as he saw Arthur's Excalibur. The sword that was only meant for his Once and Future King just lying derelict in the unidentifiable man's chest; the sword that was meant for so much more; that had helped them so many times even without Arthur's knowing; the sword that was made of man and magic, begotten in a dragon's breath. The sword that was meant to _protect _it's Once and Future King.

And if Arthur had lost his sword…

The warlock choked back a sob and tightened his grip on his staff as he walked on in search of his friends and his missing King. Merlin could see Kilgharrah lying motionless in the distance, looking for the entire world like a giant gold and crimson splattered boulder; except that his wings splayed out at odd angles and his mighty head lay stretched from his great body, turned to the side with his formerly burning gold eyes – the very color of magic – closed. Merlin couldn't even _see_where Aithusa had crashed through the carnage and his blurred eyes.

How did it come to this?

Then Merlin felt a presence; the presence of magic. And then he had the answer to his question.

_Morgana._

She had done this; she'd created this disaster from her jealousy and her lust for power and her hatred. This was her fault.

Slowly, and just as her jade eyes opened to meet his own, he turned. The wind pulled at his long white hair and the setting sun was at his back.

The Lady Morgana wore her usual garb; a deeply black dress as dark as the raven's she used as her messengers. Her hair was a tangled and dirtied mess beneath her, and her forehead had a smear of blood that had originated from somewhere above her hairline. Her coal-colored cloak was twisted beneath her, and the out-of-place gauntlets at her wrists were dull and scratched. Her emerald eyes were filled with hopelessness, defeat and pain.

"Help me Emrys," she begged in a strained voice as she reached out her frail, pale hand, "please."

Seeing her now, lying there helpless and covered in mud and blood, her own and that of her foes, Merlin felt a prick of pity in his heart. She used to be so great. The Lady Morgana, fearless defender of all things good and true; the only person who wasn't afraid of Uther Pendragon's wrath and who wasn't afraid of disobeying him to do what was right. She used to be so beautiful and respected and loved by everyone.

Not anymore, and certainly not in Merlin's eyes.

She was no longer the Lady Morgana of Camelot, daughter of Gorlois and Uther Pendragon's beloved ward. She was no longer the graceful lady whose sweet laughter would bring a smile to Uther's face, and she was certainly no longer the lady he cared for and would be happy to call a friend.

No. Never again.

Now, she was Morgana Pendragon, daughter of Uther Pendragon, and a vengeful High Priestess of the Old Religion. Her presence marked the downfall of Camelot, and her pleased smile brought only death, despair, and destruction.

When had her sweet innocence disappeared? When had she matured into a malevolent witch? When had she changed?

_When did _any _of them change?_

She was no friend of Camelot and certainly no friend of Merlin's, or of Arthur's, or of the woman whose mind she had twisted with her dark magic. Once upon a time she wouldn't have had the cruelness in her heart to twist their feelings as she did now; she wouldn't even have it in her mind to kill…

…but she'd had too much of her father in her. The hatred, the rage, the madness - all marks of her twisted bloodline and Merlin could only thank God that Arthur had taken after his mother and that he, Guinevere, Gaius, and the Knights had helped him change into the great king he was now.

But if he was dead, what would that matter?

At the thought of his best friend -his _brother_- dead, the reminder of what she'd caused rocked Merlin to the core and righteous anger fought for dominance against his raging despair. His body trembled and his aged voice shook as he answered her.

"Is this really what you wanted Morgana?"

She audibly choked on the liquid in her throat and her hand slowly fell back at her side. "Please, Merlin..."

Merlin himself choked on the cloud of emotions that blocked his throat and unconsciously lifted his chin. He still couldn't grasp that she knew the truth. After all this time of hiding his true identity from her, she finally knew…

"…show me your true form."

He almost scrunched his eyebrows in confusion but then remembered that he was still using the aging spell; he still looked like an eighty-year old man. And he felt like one too.

But why would she want him to change?

It clicked in his mind like a piece of a puzzle; because Emrys was to be her doom. She's seen him before, this elderly man in Gaius' red robe, as he'd struggled against her every move, made sure all of her plans went awry. She was afraid of this old sorcerer.

Feeling another prick of benevolence in his heart, his eyes blue eyes softened, and he whispered the spell that would change him into the young man he truly was. Slowly he changed: long peppered hair shortened into close-cropped ebony black hair; pale, wrinkled skin tightened and color filled his face; his nose shrunk and his thin lips became fuller and pinker. The only thing that didn't change was his eyes, and the tear tracks made by his tears. They stayed the same; deep blue, full of unspoken wisdom and pained sadness.

Morgana struggled to breathe and slowly, Merlin slipped off the worn red robe, revealing his usual clothing; brown trousers, beryl blue tunic, ash grey neckerchief, and worn leather jacket. He carefully stepped closer and kneeled beside her broken form, laying his white staff beside him on the ground. At once, he could feel the sticky blood and soppy mud soak into his trousers and wet his knees and saw as his movements speckled the staff with scarlet and umber. He felt Morgana's hollow eyes on him even though neither said anything.

Suddenly, and as if struggling with a thought, Morgana's eyes turned to look at the blood-drenched sky and her hand slid across the bleeding hole in her side. The hole that Merlin had made when he'd fought that epic battle with her hours earlier. But it confused Merlin as to why she hadn't used magic to regenerate herself.

The question must have shown in his blue eyes, for she said, "I'm too weak… to heal myself…"

Merlin balled his hands into fists on his thighs and he bowed his head. "Morgana –"

"No," she said with a tired voice, "I won't ask you to heal me, not again, but please Merlin… grant me one last favor."

The warlock closed his eyes and breathed a sigh before opening them again and lifting his heavy to look at her. "What is it?"

And then she closed her own eyes for a moment and breathed a steadying breath. When she opened her eyes again, Merlin could see them brimmed with tears and she was shaking ever-so-slightly. "…Make it quick."

The world stilled and Merlin took a deep breath through his nose and lifted his chin skyward to stop his tears from spilling down his flushed and yet, pale as ever, porcelain cheeks. It didn't work and the tears only spilled out the sides of his eyes to run across his throbbing temples, temporarily alleviating the heat the seemed to radiate.

She wanted him to kill her. He was to be her destiny; her doom, regardless of what form he was in. But Merlin thought the thing that made one more tear flow smoothly down his cheekbone when he looked at her once more, was that she wasn't fighting it anymore. This once proud woman had accepted her fate.

Merlin nodded, stood, and ran a hand through his greasy black hair and across his eyes. He walked away, using his staff as a walking stick to relieve some of the pressure on his ankle, and retrieved Excalibur from another man's still chest. It came out with a squelch and a _zing_ as it touched the man's armor, but the man didn't move; there was no question he'd been dead for a while. Then he walked back towards Morgana, this time on her other side; the side her heart was on.

In one swift and fluid movement, he brought the sword down and pierced her unarmoured heart. Blood immediately started seeping out as she gasped in pain but let out a breath of acceptance as she blinked as Merlin pulled it out before throwing it to the ground and kneeling, practically collapsing, beside her once more.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," he choked out.

She turned to him with something like a true smile on her face; a smile of the old Morgana. "No, don't be. This is how… it was meant to be."

Merlin pursed his lips and another tear rolled down his cheek. "I –"

"Emrys," she said, stopping him, "I'm sorry."

Merlin choked and opened his mouth to say something, but found no words and just bowed his head and tried not to break down completely. After everything he'd gone through today, after all the pain he'd already faced head on, and after all the pain he'd bottled up inside him throughout his whole life, he was certainly ready to and, in his own opinion, had every right to.

And maybe he'd been wrong; maybe there was still a reachable part of the old Morgana that hadn't been completely killed off. But why did it take her acceptance of death for her to seek redemption?

"Merlin Emrys…"

Merlin raised his head and his bloodshot tanzanite colored eyes met her calm malachite ones. He sniffed and ran his sleeve across his nose and swiped at his eyes. She looked at him with almost a glint of fondness in her eyes, like how a big sister would regard her little brother as she lightly scolded him.

She exhaled, "…thank you."

Then, Merlin saw her body take in one more breath with difficulty and exhale it before her bleeding body stilled. The warlock knew without a doubt that finally, after so many years, Morgana Pendragon, daughter of Uther Pendragon, High Priestess of the Old Religion, was dead. And whatever there was of plain old Morgana, Uther's easy-going, fearless, loving ward had died with her.

He bit back a sob as he felt the weight of the stone in his gut evermore and stood again, plucking Excalibur and his staff off the ground even as a too-clear tear fell towards the scarlet splattered ground, helping clear the grime off his pale face.

So much death.

Morgana had thanked him for killing her; for showing her mercy. He didn't regret such kindness. It was what made him different from her; he always would, but she wouldn't.

He gripped Excalibur's pummel as if to gather strength and felt the magic surging through it and it momentarily rejuvenated him; his own magic as well as Kilgharrah's. He felt the magic from the Lake of Avalon; Freya's magic.

And then a sudden thought speared through his mind and he lifted the crimson splattered Excalibur higher until it pointed to the horizon. It reflected the sun's sparse red light and made the runes on the sleek sword glow golden while the blade itself burned silver.

"_Ábeþecian úre ágend,"_ Merlin said clearly. His eyes blazed the color of honey-gold in response to his spell and suddenly, a light, sparkling as if flecks of gold were caught in a flowing stream, shot out of Excalibur's tip. It zigzagged across the field before stopped just above a fallen warrior's body.

_Arthur_…

Morgana forgotten, Merlin slid Excalibur into the belt at his waist and ran parallel to the thin stream of sparkling magic so out of place on the crimson soaked battlefield. He heard the crunching of dead grass beneath his feet and pain laced his leg from his right ankle. He tried to lean more to his left side and on his staff, but it only made his running clumsy and awkward.

It seemed like forever before the golden trail ended, but in reality it had only been a few dozen feet. Gasping with pain, Merlin fell to his knees beside his fallen King and eyed his body with a physician's eye. His face was mainly clear of injuries, mostly just covered in grime and dirt except for a patch of broken skin on his cheekbone from a punch. Scarlet blanketed his chainmail, blood seeping out of a wound in the middle of his torso.

He already knew who'd given it to him; Mordred. It was the vision he'd seen; the vision he couldn't prevent no matter how hard he'd tried. He wasn't fast enough. He cursed the treacherous druid boy under his breath and bit back a sob of grief. If only Mordred hadn't fallen in love with that girl…

…but Merlin knew what that felt like too; having the one you love killed. But he hadn't gone and betrayed those who'd given him a home despite his druid heritage. Arthur had known full well that he was a druid and yet took him in and trained him as a knight. It had been his undoing.

Finna's clear words ran through his head, much like they had been these past few weeks, _"Do not make the same mistake as Arthur; do not trust the druid boy."_

He hadn't and still this had happened.

He tentatively fingered the wound, knowing that he wouldn't be able to heal it, even with his magic. It was too deep…

It was destiny.

A wail of grief escaped from his very soul and he grasped Arthur's shoulder tightly within his shaking hand and shook it. "Arthur!"

His body shook but _he _didn't stir.

He got up close to his brothers face and screamed, "Arthur!"

And then as if a godsend, the young kings ocean-blue eyes slowly opened, weakened with exhaustion. "Merlin?"

Merlin eyes visibly blossomed with relief. "Arthur!"

Arthur smiled as if not aware of where they were, but full in the knowledge –and in the knowledge of his wound. "Merlin! I thought... I thought we'd… had left you at camp."

"You did, you great clotpole. Ya' know, knocking a man out to keep him from coming is very counterproductive."

Merlin's stomach clenched as a memory hit him once more.

"_If Mordred isn't Arthur's bane… what is?"_

It was when they'd gone to Ismere and after they'd rescued the knights. The Diamar had answered his question…

"…_Himself."_

By knocking Merlin out to keep him from the death of battle, Arthur had unknowingly been his own destruction; because Merlin hadn't been there to protect him when Mordred had pierced his torso.

Arthur let out a shaky breath of laughter. "It would… appear so."

Merlin smirked hesitantly and, feeling a shot of sorrow as if he was shot with an arrow, grasped Arthur's right hand in his own, not caring at all about the blood spread from the once spotless leather of the warrior's glove. Arthur's other hand hovered warily above his still bleeding injury, glancing down at the wound.

Merlin saw this and immediately let out another low sob and sniffed, bowing his head as more tears caressed his nose before falling onto the hardened ground.

The king instantly forgot his wound and turned to his friend, aquamarine eyes caring and softer than his pillows back in Camelot. "Merlin, please..."

"I –," Merlin choked and feigned annoyance; the clear fondness in his voice was genuine though, "I'm not crying, you prat. Wasn't it you who told me that no man's worth my tears?"

Arthur's face became more serious and his eyes hardened slightly. "I was wrong you know; every life is worth crying over."

Merlin nodded jerkily and slowly, another droplet of water leaving his eye. "It's about time you admitted you're wrong."

The king smiled once more. "Idiot."

"Prat."

Arthur eyed his friend, his brother, with an affectionate eye. He knew what was coming; he'd known it the moment Mordred had stabbed him with that glint of rage in his eye. He was dying.

He drank in Merlin's features; the raven black hair, the full lips, the high cheekbones, pale face, and his eyes. His eyes that were the color of burning calcite and where once life was, implicit hope, explicit wisdom, and blithe, carefree love were orbs so full of agony and misery that Arthur wondered how those eyes could be Merlin's. He inhaled Merlin familiar scent, even with his weakened senses, and even through the smell of stale blood in the air, Arthur could smell the honeysuckle, roo, and mint leaves that so often occupied the Court Physician's chambers.

These things were known to him, these things anchored him, and these things brought him _home_… to a home he'd never again see.

He hoped the Knights were alright. He didn't know how Merlin would handle losing so many friends and though it was true that he'd seen plenty of death, Arthur didn't think he'd ever lost so many people at once.

At the very least Gwaine had to be alright. Arthur knew how close those two were and if there was anyone who'd help Merlin through any of this, it would be Gwaine, and Gaius, and…

"Gwen."

Merlin leaned closer. "What?"

Arthur's voice suddenly became more pleading. "Merlin, please… promise me you'll… you'll take care of Guinevere."

"Arthur –"

"And Gaius."

"_Arthur –"_

Arthur blinked and squeezed his friend's hand. "Please Merlin… just this. If our friendship… meant anything… promise me you'll take care of them."

Merlin gut felt like it was being stoned and his left hand became entangled with Arthur's blood mangled blonde hair as he squeezed Arthur's hand back with his right. "I promise Arthur; with my life I promise."

Arthur let out a breath of relief and smiled like he wasn't dying. "Thank you, old friend."

More tears trailed down Merlin's face as two strips became ever more prominent on his flushed face. He let out another low sob that seemed to emanate from his very soul and Arthur squeezed his friends hand as tight as his waning strength would allow.

A sudden though entered Arthur's mind. "Where's Morgana?"

"Dead," Merlin answered through a sniffle.

Arthur caught the meaning behind the swiftness of his answer and the way his voice hardened, and he let out a gasp that had nothing to do with the pain in his chest. Somehow, Merlin had been the one who killed Morgana.

"She was herself… at the end."

The king felt a small ache in his chest. Could it be true?

Then Merlin's deep voice sounded through the thick air once more. "…and Mordred?"

And somehow, Merlin knew that this was Mordred's fault.

"Dead… I'm assuming. G-Gwaine attacked him after…"

It didn't need to be said; the evidence was before him.

Arthur bit his lip and looked once more at his friend, emotional and physical pain in his eye. "Merlin, I know I'm d-"

"No," Merlin objected, his voice full of sudden passion as he squeezed Arthur's hair, "don't you dare, Arthur Pendragon. Don't you dare say it."

"Old friend…"

Merlin choked and his voice broke. "Please, Arthur…"

Merlin's mind scrambled for a solution, something, _anything_, and his mind only came with one thought.

Kilgharrah.

Maybe he'd know how to…

"Merlin…"

"No Arthur. I'll find a way, I always do," Merlin said, voice lit with small hope, "Now listen to me, I'll be right back, alright."

Arthur shifted with sudden worry and fear. "Merlin… what're you talking about? Please…" _Don't leave me alone._

"Try and stay awake, alright? I'll just be a moment."

With that, Merlin squeezed his friend's hand once more before standing up and grabbing his staff to help him walk. He didn't even register Excalibur at his hip as he turned back towards Arthur.

"Right back, I promise."

Arthur smirked at him, fear and worry still churning in his belly, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop the man, even though he wanted nothing more to. "Merlin... don't get lost."

Merlin smiled and nodded, feeling a small pang of remembrance before he blinked and then his face was hardened with such determination that Arthur felt a spark of hope ignite with himself.

Merlin nodded once more and watched as Arthur tilted his face towards him and nodded as much as he could. Then he turned and spotted Kilgharrah's prone body maybe fifty yards away. He favored his left leg - unbeknownst to him, Arthur didn't miss it - as he ran towards the dragon. And he glanced back at his king to see that he'd closed his eyes. Merlin prayed that he'd open them again and ran faster.

He could hear more men's groans of pain as he ran past them and he felt the physician's urge to go to them and to help them... But no, Arthur was his priority.

He finally arrived at the Great Dragon's head, panting and sweating from the exertion and exhaustion from the day. Kilgharrah's head stretched from his large, wing covered body and was turned away from him. Great gashes as wide as Merlin's hand littered his exposed throat, blood seeping lazily onto the already dark ground and pooling there. The stench of the mass amount of blood was prominent and if Merlin hadn't been so desperate, he might have gagged on the putrid stench of dragon's blood.

He jogged around Kilgharrah's mighty jaw until he faced the closed eyes of the Great Dragon. He placed a hand on Kilgharrah's snout to steady himself and found his vision dancing as dark spots ebbed against the sides of his vision.

"Kilgharrah!"

The dragon didn't stir, didn't so much as move his eyes beneath their mighty lids. He couldn't be...

Kilgharrah had warned him weeks before that his time was coming to an end after he'd saved him from not only an arrow Merlin had taken, but also from Morgana and her hoard of Saxons. Merlin had seen that Kilgharrah's wing was injured, and the dragon had told him that even with his time nearing, he'd fight for Merlin with all his strength.

He'd done just that and Merlin couldn't have asked for more.

Merlin closed his eyes and reached deep inside him for their connection; the connection gifted him by his father through death; his Dragonlord connection.

His heart soared when he felt the ever-present pulse Kilgharrah's magic left on his own and could feel the dragon's very alive presence. He closed his eyes and breathed a grateful sigh because if Kilgharrah wasn't able to help him find some way to heal Arthur, then there was no way...

With that thought alone making panic spread throughout his being, Merlin reached out to Kilgharrah with his mind. _"Kilgharrah?"_

It was only then that the Great Dragon's eyes stirred beneath their lids and suddenly, flashed open. Merlin gasped at the brilliantly golden orbs. He'd never been this close to them before, and he was utterly amazed at their deep beauty... but the pain he saw in them made him want to cry all over again.

The affection in Kilgharrah's voice echoed through the warlock's mind. _"Merlin."_

The dragon slowly inhaled through his nose and his breathing was clearly labored as he wheezed in the stale air. Merlin felt a pang of panic and placed his hands on Kilgharrah's deeply cold snout as if through that touch, Kilgharrah would breathe easier.

"_Kilgharrah,"_ Merlin said, his voice full of desperation and sadness and tears flowed down his face,_ "tell me what to do. Please. There has to be something..."_

Kilgharrah blinked and his eyes softened and it was like a new chasm opening in an already vast cave. He stirred beneath Merlin's warm touch. _"There is nothing you _can_ do, young warlock. Even you are not powerful enough -"_

"_No, there has to be something -"_

Kilgharrah's deep voice interrupted him. _"What of the young Pendragon?"_

Merlin swallowed thickly past a lump in his throat and slowly shook his head. _"He's dying,"_ Kilgharrah closed his eyes and Merlin felt the need to raise his voice as if the dragon had stopped listening, _"and I need your help to -"_

Kilgharrah's voice was louder than his own as he answered with sliver of anger. _"Then all is lost!"_

Merlin nearly fell to his knees as they trembled beneath him and he sobbed and tightened his grip on his staff. "No!" he yelled aloud. Then, in his head again, _"No. Please, I can heal you, and you can help him."_

"_Merlin, there is nothing you can do to help me!" _

Merlin's eyes, aged ten times their true youth, flashed with agony. _"Then give me a spell, or something -"_

"_Emrys -"_

"Something_, please!" _Merlin begged.

Kilgharrah's eyes flashed with anger. _"There is _nothing_,"_ he snarled.

Now Merlin really did fall to his knees and bowed his head as more blood soaked into his trousers. Tears came in earnest as he grasped his white staff with both hands. Despair and hopelessness fought for dominance within his aching heart, and he sobbed, not trying any longer to hold back his grief.

Arthur was going to die. Camelot was going to fall. Albion would never be built. Destiny had faltered.

For while she prophesied that the Once and Future King was to unite the lands of Albion with Emrys at his side, she also prophesied Arthur's fall upon the plains of Camlann.

Today.

Kilgharrah eyed the warlock with sad eyes, anger lost. _"I am sorry, young warlock."_

Merlin let out one more low wail before shakily getting to his feet once more and shaking his head. _"No, there has to be something_."

Kilgharrah sighed. _"Merlin..."_

The young man shook his head jerkily. Even now, when all hope was lost, Merlin was fighting Destiny. He took several steps back, still facing the ground as he continued to shake his head. He walked back around Kilgharrah's snout and looked out into the carnage that scattered the plains of Camlann. He knew where Arthur - his brother through bond - lay, even though he couldn't see him; he knew where Morgana - his enemy through opposing destinies - lay, even though he couldn't see her; he knew where Aithusa - the treacherous dragon who had fought with Morgana - lay, even though he couldn't see her; and he knew where Kilgharrah - his own ever-faithful dragon - lay.

He looked upon the rest of the destruction and let out another wail of sorrow. The world, it seemed, was stained scarlet. Red and fuchsia clashed in the sky; crimson and scarlet battled against each other for control of the ground; geranium backdropped Camelot's golden dragon as it landed; maroon snakes slithered and twisted against a coal colored scenery that marked the Saxon's flag.

Merlin's mind ran through a list of spells, any spells that might help him to do _something._..

...but there was nothing

And then, there _was_ something...

Merlin closed his quickly hardening blue eyes, full of sudden defiant determination, and gathered his magic inside him. He pulled it from the farthest reaches of his being, much farther than he'd ever dared to go before. He pulled in magic from the ground itself, pulling it up through the blood-stained ground; he pulled it from the clareted sky; he pulled it from his Dragonlord powers, soaking it in until his very _aura _glowed gold and flecks of it sparkled in the air, so very out of place in the red world.

He pulled it in until it hurt, and he clenched his burning eyes together tightly and bared his teeth against a yell of pain and then, very suddenly...

...he let it out.

Golden rays brighter and yet duller than the sun shot out over the battlefield, shimmering as if glittering with drops of honey, identical to Merlin's glowing eyes as he thought one thought; one thought that he focused on; one thought that was fed by his desperation, his anguish, his heartache, and more importantly, his _love_.

_Heal._

* * *

_*_covers face and feels stomach flutter* Alright, how'd you like it? I added the old Morgana bit on a whim because, I feel, that we might see a little of that because Katie said that her character has a 'surprising twist.' I tried to add as many descriptions as I could to make it seem more real and tried to make the bromance palpable (because I love it _so_ much!) More will be_ 'revealed'_ in Part 2! ;)

Thanks for reading!


	2. Reclaiming Hopes

Disclaimer; IDOM

Alright, so after three cups of coffee, a dozen sheets of Algebra homework, fangirling about the new episode I haven't yet seen, and _freaking_ out about the trailer for the last two episodes (I was literally crying and shaking in absolute awe! *Spoilers* It looks _so_ good and I've always wanted an episode where Merlin loses his magic, and now it's really _happening!_ Sorry if I spoiled it for anyone!) Those trailers, plus the coffee... Ohmygosh... Freaking out is putting it mildly. I always tell everyone that I have this extra organ in my body that turns oxygen into laughing gas, and I stand by it because there was also quite a few maniacal laughs involved... ;D Never give me caffeine...!

Opps, there's my 'unofficial' ADD acting up... I say unofficial because it's never been tested, but I'm sure every writer has it... that and a little madness... Oh, there is is again! Goodness! But I _did_ want to say _thank you_ to everyone who's reviewed! I was literally floored by your wonderful responses (there was some maniacal laughs reading those, believe me... and my cat who looked at me like I was crazy. It was well founded though.) And I was absolutely astonished and completely flattered by the number of people who said that this is how they really want it to end. _Thank you all!_

Anway... my AN's aren't usually this long... But again, thank you all so much, and I hope you like Part 2 just as much! :D

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A thick, aurous, golden blanket covered the plains of Camlann, reaching out to ailing men's heart as wisps disappeared into their barely moving chests, slowly healing them from the inside out. There wasn't any hope for those already dead, but with what little hold Merlin had on this conglomeration of magic, he would help those he could.

He distantly heard ravens and crows caw and take flight hastily, in fear of the magic as banners snapped with a sudden rush of wind that accompanied Merlin's seemingly limitless power.

The warlock's eyes burned ever brighter, and with traveling eyesight despite his still body, he pushed a large shard of his magic into Kilgharrah's ailing body and heard the dragon breathe out smoothly, comfortably, and pleasurably.

Then his mind focused on Arthur, and his eyes followed the small sliver of magic it would take to heal him. Arthur's body filled his sightless vision, and he saw it twitch as the golden magic was absorbed through his broken chainmail.

He knew it would have the desired effect and pulled back, following other fibers of magic as they flew with a soft whistling sound as they cut through the thick air.

Merlin particularly followed those tresses of magic that had identified his friends; Leon, who'd been slashed savagely on his side, dying from blood loss but still clinging to life like the 'immortal' soldier everyone had coined him as; Percival, who had taken an arrow in his thigh and whose biceps were covered with blood from deep marks; Gwaine, who, surprisingly, was only a few dozen feet from their king, had taken Mordred's sword in his chest much like Arthur had, but had traces of the druid's magic in his body. Merlin pushed his magic in each of them and cleansed their bodies, Gwaine especially, of what ailed them, his magic even disposing of the bolt that still imbedded in Percival's bloodied leg.

He drew his magic back from them, not wanting their bodies to start rejecting his magic in case he pushed in too much, and spread his circle, healing not only Camelot's soldiers knights, but also men from the Saxon's side.

Merlin guided the magic and watched as it disappeared into the chest's of men he didn't recognize and he watched as another large thread of magic disappeared into Aithusa's motionless body. He watched her stir and saw her blue-grey eyes open before drawing back.

Distantly, he heard his name called twice, and with a great urgency in the men's tones. He heard sharp gasps and knew that at least Arthur and Gwaine were up and moving.

He focused once again on healing and urged his magic out and onto the very outreaches of the carnage, where he healed men either side.

Once that was done, he threw up his arms and focused on the sky, eyes still burning a deep honey-gold as he cleared the dome of the blood stains until only thick, grey cumulonimbus clouds covered the sky and a strong, clean-smelling breeze filtered its way through the air. In a few hours, the sky would break and cleanse the earth naturally with a fierce thunderstorm.

Too much magic had been used already.

At last, he knew he'd done all he could and, very suddenly, he released his hold on the great mass of magic and his eyes once again faded from gold to their normal color of burning topaz. The golden flecks flowed away from him as a soft stream would flow on flat ground and the tresses of magic disappeared into nothing, going back to its respectful origins; the ground, the sky, the vegetation. Some disappeared within himself as well, renourishing his own magic and Dragonlord abilities.

But despite that, as soon as the magic left him, Merlin fell, for the third time that day, to his knees as his blurred blue orbs rolled to the back of his sockets, and he hung his pale head, panting and sweating with exertion and exhaustion. His trembling hands grasped his dirtied white staff -the only thing keeping him from completely falling down- and he heard his name said again as someone else laid a delicate hand on his back.

His mind fought against the intense pressure building up in his head, and he gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut just after a small yell of antagonized pain escaped his full and flushed lips. His breaths came out in strangled gasps, his throat itself suffering through the abuse created by his earlier sobs. He distantly heard reassurances being whispered in his ear through the thick clout of pressure blocking his hearing.

"-t _hurts,_" he gasped out as he curled in on himself and rocked through the pain.

The hand on his back continued to rub in what was supposed to be comforting circles and then a hand squeezed his shoulder tightly. There was a voice and Merlin could only barely hear what it was saying.

"It's going to be alright, Merlin. You're going to be alright, I promise. Just _breathe!_" He didn't know whose voice it was and then everything faded back out until all he could hear was his own too-quick pulse and heavy breathing as his temples throbbed.

Merlin tried opening his pain-filled eyes and found that his lids felt heavier than anything, but despite that, and painstakingly slowly, they opened. The first thing he saw as black spots blotted his vision was the muddied ground and his folded, dirtied legs beneath him, and then he lifted his aching neck, and Arthur was there.

His friend's hair was greased with blood, and there were smears of it around his face that fought for dominance against the grime and dirt. His lips were drawn in a thin, tight frown, and his strong jaw line was clenched with anxiety and clear concern.

His eyes were the most prominent on his face however; a deep sapphire blue, rounded by the too-clean whites of his eyes. There, Arthur held his intense worry, undeniable awe, his aching remorse, and the slightest glint of betrayal and broken trust.

It was only then that Merlin realized his magic had been revealed.

And then Gwaine was there, his usually sleek brown hair shaggy and cluttered with debris and dirt. His tan face was even more dirtied and a dried trail of blood leaked from his temple. His eyes crinkled with a smile at seeing Merlin's tanzanite blue orbs, but his eyes still held that same worry and admiration that Arthur's had.

He might have said something, or he might have been continuously talking, but Merlin's mind didn't register it as he took in the rest of the scene past his two friends.

The warlock's head still felt abnormally heavy and stuffy, and his neck stiff as he turned to look at the once-fallen Great Dragon. Instead, in his place was the great streak mark he'd landed in and the pit his body had created. But no Kilgharrah. Instead, Merlin found his clawed talons on the side of the streak mark, and slowly, his eyes traveled up the dragon's body to see those gold glittered eyes full of fond affection and pride as they stared back at him. Kilgharrah blinked and nodded at him, and Merlin noticed that, as if a god-send, the dragon's wing lay smoothly, _normally _against his scaled side. Merlin barely returned the nod and pushed his eyesight further.

He saw men covered in grime and blood, both Camelot's and Saxon's standing upon the plains of Camlann and staring at either him or the Great Dragon. Their faces were filled with awed bewilderment, mouths near to gaping. He saw Leon and Percival, running, battered and bloody, but _running_, through the flock of men and towards their small group, and his mind faintly registered their own concern.

And then maybe it was the sudden motion of the knights which sparked it, but the opposing sides seemed to notice their enemies for the first time in minutes. Merlin noted the look of anger peaking on one man's face from Camelot as he venomously stared at a rather large Saxon knight.

No. No, it couldn't happen again. Not again.

Just as the verbal fighting began and his senses returned with breakneck speed, Merlin, somehow gathering sudden strength, very nearly jumped out of Arthur and Gwaine's supportive hold and sprung right past Leon and Percival even as they put their hands out to try and steady his quaking limbs. He ignored them and leaned heavily against his staff as his mind registered the sparks shooting up from his ankle before his face tightened with pain.

Later he would wonder why the healing magic didn't heal his own wounds, and later he would realize that it was because he'd taxed himself on everyone else too much.

"Stop!" he cried. His voice sounded like he'd been kicked in the gut and sweat slid down his temple from his wet raven black locks. "Listen to me!"

His words seemed to have the opposite effect and more people joined in the shouting match though, thankfully, none had yet reached for their fallen swords.

Arthur came up beside him and grasped his elbow with a strong hand, hair seemingly dull in the twilight. "Merlin -"

The warlock ignored him and yelled again. "Stop! _Please!"_ His voice was of an aged man and barely escaped his abused throat.

Then suddenly the deep roar of a dragon filled the sky, and everyone except Merlin covered their ears to protect their hearing from Kilgharrah's mighty voice. After a moment, Kilgharrah closed his mouth, and the noise stopped, but it had the desired effect; the arguing men had ceased their yelling and were instead, gaping at the dragon with fearful eyes as if the dragon would, right then and there, attack and kill them.

"Listen to me!" Merlin tried again. His voice was stronger, and he used what little magic he could reach now to amplify and strengthen it.

The men's eyes switched to him in surprise, and Merlin could not only feel their eyes on him, but also of the healed men behind him and those of his friends.

"The fighting has to _stop__!_"

He took a deep breath, and his ribs ached as air gathered in his damaged and stinging lungs. The chilling breeze ruffled and snaked through Merlin's coal-black hair and cut through his threadbare clothing, making him shiver. He could feel the air pressure building as the skies slowly darkened and thunder could be heard in the far distance as lightening lit the horizon with white fire.

"Look!" he said. His beryl blue eyes roved the myriads of men before him, his face lit with fierce determination because, as always, Camelot future rested on his shoulders, and his shoulders alone, and if he couldn't stop this great war, then what kind of future did Camelot have? "Look at where it's gotten you!"

The warlock made sure each word reached each man's heart as his zircon blue eyes that were still undertoned with gold, paused on one person, before moving onto the next. "Look at the countless men that lie death at your feet; your _friends,_ your _brothers..."_

The soldiers and knights on either side seemed to do just that, and their faces filled with grief as several collapsed next to their fallen allies.

"...and _tell me_ that this battle was worth it! _Tell me_ that losing your friends was worth it!"

Cries of sorrow could be heard from the people, and Merlin felt the king's hand on his slender shoulder as if in support and concern. Merlin's grip tightened on his staff, and he felt a wave of nausea from over-costing his magic but pushed through the bout of dizziness as his stomach flipped, only reminding him of the last time he'd eaten.

"But you _can't_, can you?"

His voice stretched to the very reaches of the plains of Camlann as if it was carried on the very wind that pulled at Merlin's neckerchief and made him feel so much more tired as it pushed against the tear-tracks on his face.

"I was able to heal you," he continued, his voice tiring, "I was able to save you, but I couldn't save your friends. I couldn't save your brothers in arms. Not even I have the power to bring the dead back to life."

Glances were thrown his way, and he could feel Arthur's hand tighten ever so slightly on his trembling shoulder. He blinked, and his eyelids fluttered as the cost of fighting all day long and then using too much magic caught up with him. His voice filled with passion and sadness once more as he continued.

"Only this morning these men were alive and barely prepared to fight; only yesterday they were alive and feeling nervous about the upcoming battle; only a few weeks ago they were alive and wondering if there _would_ be a battle. Boys! Boys, barely even men, fallen at another man's sword or taken as an arrow pierced his flesh..."

Merlin breathed in the sharp air once more; it stung his nose and lungs but cleared his head slightly. His stormy blue eyes softened and he hated the words that left his mouth next.

"It will happen again if this doesn't end, except this time, I won't be able to heal you."

_I don't have the strength…_

"No one will be able to. You get _one_ more chance; _one_ more chance to make peace because if you don't, it will be the end of you…"

Then his tanzanite eyes hardened once more as if they were chiseled out of the ice of a mighty glacier and given to him just to his gaze could pierce through men's very souls.

"But know this; you've seen my power; you've seen what I can do, and I swear that if this fighting doesn't end, I will fight for Camelot with the rest of my being."

Arthur's hand squeezed his shoulder once more, and he heard the squelching of boots sinking into moist mud as the rest of the Knight's stepped closer to him. The rest of the men in the field seemed stunned as they stared at him with clear astonishment in their eyes. The only noise was the whistle of the wind, the sharp flutter and snap of banners that were stuck in the ground, and the rumble of thunder as lightning struck the ground miles off.

Then one man, a Saxon by his leather armour and ragged brown clothing, slowly stood from where he'd been kneeling beside his fallen friend's body. He was a tall man, perhaps middle-aged with broad shoulders and close-cropped, chocolate brown hair and a short, stubbly beard. His hands hung at his sides and his face was filled with both sorrow and awe. His origins were clear as he spoke with heavy accent.

"Who are you?"

Hundreds of eyes flickered up from where they'd been resting on their fallen allies, and some of Camelot's men gasped as their minds finally registered him as the king's manservant beneath the grime that coated his face.

Merlin inhaled slowly and tried to stand taller but the pain that threaded its way up his leg from his right ankle made it all the more difficult. Even so, he felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder, and he could sense the Knight's reassuring presence, and he could feel Kilgharrah's mind brush against his. That was all the support he need and he answered the man in a sure, clear, and strong voice.

"I," he said slowly, "am Merlin Emrys, -"

Beside him, Arthur pulled in a sharp breath.

"- last of the Dragonlords, sworn protector and humble servant of Camelot and her Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon."

The king's hand tightened on his shoulder again.

The Saxon, tight-lipped, nodded as if satisfied with his answer. "Morgana spoke of you; she_ feared _you."

Merlin nodded sadly. "I know."

"So why shouldn't we?"

Merlin felt doubt and uncertainty build up inside him and answered quickly. "Because Morgana fought for Camelot's throne; for power out of her lust and greed; I fight for peace." Wisdom flashed beneath his still gold-flecked blue eyes. "Morgana feared me because she knew I could defeat her, but I swear to you, I only want peace."

The Saxon eyed him up and down, his green eyes questioning. "And what of this peace?"

Merlin felt a small weight leave his body; this was the first step. "A truce, a treaty. One that satisfies both sides, and ensures _harmony_ for the future."

The man's jade eyes softened and he ran a hand through his auburn hair, looking behind him and seeing his own friend's eyes on him. So many had fallen… He turned back to the small group with sad eyes.

"I wish for no more death."

Merlin silently let out a breath of relief and tears pricked at his eyes once more. He blinked and the wind dried his eyes again.

"I believe our king to have perished..."

Merlin frowned with genuine sadness. "I am sorry."

The man nodded with acknowledgment and smirked slightly. "Don't be; he was horrible."

Merlin grinned lightly and beside him, Arthur smiled and let his hand fall from Merlin's shoulders as he took a step forward with his hand outstretched.

"Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot," he said easily.

The man seemed to snap to attention and bowed his head. "My lord."

Arthur shook his head. "Please, there's no need for that." He moved his hand closer to the man, and he slowly, cautiously raised his curious eyes before grasping Arthur's gloved hand and shaking it.

"Kenneth McAlwin," he said, his eyes flashing with respect and wonder as they regarded Arthur.

Merlin felt the dragon's mind brush his and looked up to see Kilgharrah presiding over the affair with pride shining in his eyes and clear affection directed at his Dragonlord. He nodded at the dragon, and Kilgharrah blinked back before Merlin turned his attention back to the two.

Kenneth looked back at Merlin and asked him, "When will these talks take place?" as if he was the one in charge. And then even Arthur looked back at him, the same question in his soft blue eyes, and Merlin smirked, carefully stepping forward to meet the two and trying not to lean upon his right ankle, full in the knowledge that hundreds of eyes were upon him.

"A few months from now," he answered carefully and after a moment of thought, "that will give each side adequate time to mourn their fallen and time to perhaps find someone to delegate for your people.."

Kenneth eyed him with the same look of respect he'd regarded Arthur with. "For one so young, you are very wise, my lord."

Merlin dipped his head in acceptance of his praise and the breeze played against his bloodied hair, chilling his scalp. "Just Merlin, please."

Kenneth smirked lighty and nodded before eyeing both Merlin and Arthur at the same time before speaking. "You two are like two sides of the same coin."

Instantly forgetting his own pain, Merlin let out a small guffaw of laughter - such a strange sound on the death plains - and his beryl eyes danced with hilarity as he put a hand on his throbbing ribs.

Arthur himself just scrunched his eyebrows and looked at his friend like he was mad, which too, was true in some form or another, and yet, his own smile pulled at his lips as it seemed Merlin had regained some of his own strength. He ran a gloved across the back of his neck and silently agreed at what Kenneth had said about Merlin's wisdom though. No matter the anger he still felt coursing through him at the insurmountable loss of lives, the fighting had to be stopped.

He turned back to the man. "Where would you like to meet to discuss this treaty?"

Instantly, Merlin sobered again and looked between the two of them, still leaning on his staff, but less now as he focused his attention on the men in front of him.

"Camelot, perhaps?" Arthur suggested. The man looked wary and then Arthur added, "Or, um…?"

Merlin intervened. "Why not discuss this at a later date? After each side has had some time to think this over? The last thing we want to do is rush into things."

Both Arthur and Kenneth nodded, agreeing and happy to oblige. Arthur's own mind was a mess with all number of things running through it - the number of people lost, the number of ways he'd have to inform their families that they're brothers, sons, husbands, and fathers were dead, and then there was the most massive one of all... _Merlin has magic... powerful magic._

He wasn't afraid; no, how could he be afraid of Merlin? But he was shocked to say the least; he'd just healed _everyone_. Merlin, his idiotic, selfless manservant had just _saved _everyone. And Arthur felt like this wasn't the first time he'd done it either.

Arthur could feel the magic still coursing through his body, still healing him and giving him energy. He'd been _dying_, so sure that he would by Mordred's hand... And then Merlin had come, and his heart had been lifted slightly in the knowledge that he at least wouldn't die alone on that blood-strewn, god-forsaken battlefield. He'd have Merlin with him.

He remembered what Merlin had told him when he was so sure that those would be his final moments...

"_I'll find a way, I always do."_

Arthur's eyes softened as he remembered Merlin's tear filled eyes and the despair he could see coursing through them as he squeezed his hand; the hopelessness that he'd seen in those usually blithe blue eyes. Arthur hoped he'd never see that in Merlin's eyes again.

"Sire?"

The kings eyes refocused on his manservant and though the hopelessness was gone, Arthur saw a certain carefulness and caution in his eyes. He could see a very well hidden cavern of fear in those honey-glazed, topaz blue orbs and very suddenly, a dagger sliced through Arthur's stomach as if Mordred had stabbed him again as he connected the dots; Merlin feared what Arthur would think of him now that his magic had been revealed.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, Merlin?"

The warlock's glance quickly passed to Kenneth before settling back on his king. "Perhaps we should allow Kenneth and his men to gather their fallen as we do the same. I don't believe that there will be any further fighting, and it wouldn't be wise to push things further."

Kenneth nodded as if a weight had been taken from his chest. "Of course, sire. If you'll allow us, we'll do just that and leave your lands." He looked behind him to see several of his friends nodding in agreement behind him. "We do not want to fight any further; too many lives have been lost."

Arthur dipped his golden head. "Of course. I hope that in future months to come, this treaty will ensure harmony between our two kingdoms."

Kenneth smiled and bobbed his head before bowing slightly, once to Arthur and once to Merlin, before turning away and leaving the king and warlock Arthur alone once more.

Arthur scrambled for something to say as the wind whistled in his ear. He opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin wasn't facing him and didn't see the gesture. It was alright because no sounds came out anyway, and as Arthur followed Merlin's line of sight, he saw the Great Dragon - the one that was supposed to have been _dead_ for _many _years - bringing his large head closer to the manservant before him.

Suddenly he felt a wave of protectiveness and leaped forward, hearing his knights do the same behind him. He grabbed Merlin's leather covered elbow to pull him back, but the man only raised his shaky hand placatingly just as a loud reverberating sound echoed around them and the dragon spoke.

"You have certainly shown your worth today, young warlock." The pride and love in his deep voice and sparkling golden eyes were plainly clear. "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your victory today, for without you, young one, all would be lost. You have saved Camelot and her peoples once again. You have reclaimed hope, and that is a very difficult thing to do once its lead so far astray. I am very proud of you, Merlin."

Arthur saw Merlin's watery smile and the pride and affection shining from his crinkling blue eyes. He noticed that Merlin seemed to lean less on his staff as if the praise had helped him stand straighter. But then fear colored his tone and clouded his eyes as he spoke.

"What about Aithusa?"

The dragon smiled and his cavernous eyes warmed even further. "She comes; she lives thanks to you."

As if on cue, a gust of fire showed within the deeply grey clouds before a large alabaster form dipped in flight and, with wings flapping in a powerful downbeat, landed softly next to Kilgharrah before Aithusa folded her off-white wings against her large body. Merlin's eyes widened and he gasped slightly at the transformation. For, no longer was she a gaunt, crippled dragon, he'd seen the past few weeks, but she looked renewed, like a healthy dragon should have been.

She took a small step forward and stretched out her long neck, blue-grey eyes full of gratefulness. Merlin hopped forward, leaning on his staff and cupped part of the dragon's tenderly in his hand, and, for the first time, was stunned to hear her smooth, still young voice as she carefully pulled back again.

"Thank you, Emrys."

A small tear of joy escaped Merlin's eye and ran down his cheekbone as he looked lovingly at the dragon.

"You have broken the connection she and Morgana had when you defeated the witch. Now I can raise her as I was meant to," Kilgharrah added with a smile.

Merlin's ears rose as his inky eyebrows did, forehead crinkling and eyes full of sudden relief and love. "So you'll be alright, then? You're no longer..."

The dragon chuckled before a reverberating sound filled the air once more as he spoke softly. "Dying? No, young warlock; you saw to that when you healed me. I will live for generations to come, thanks to you."

Merlin's lopsided grin widened until his the tips of his water-filled, multi-faceted tanzanite eyes crinkled with the force of it. The wind ruffled his dark hair sideways and pulled at his threadbare clothing, but he didn't notice and a glint of brotherly affection grew in Arthur's own aquamarine eyes at seeing his friend smile with such happiness.

The Great Dragon drew his head back and nodded to Merlin looked away as he lifted his wings as if to fly away, Aithusa doing the same. Merlin took a quick step forward as if a sudden thought had entered his head. His hands tightened on his staff as he moved.

"Wait!"

The dragon turned back to him with something not unlike amusement in his blithe and tender golden eyes. "What is it, young one?"

"You knew," Merlin said. His head was turned slightly to the side and the lop-sided and impish grin on his face matched his mischievous topaz eyes which glinted with faint specks of gold. "didn't you? You knew that I could heal everyone like that?"

The dragon dipped his golden head and he blinked. "I had my suspicions. You are Emrys, after all."

Then something like anger flashed within the warlocks eyes. "Then why didn't you tell me rather than let me think that all was lost? All my friends were dying and yet you lead me to believe that there was no hope!"

Arthur's eyes filled with warranted concern for his friend and the image of his brother's broken spirit once again flashed in his mind. He sensed rather than saw Gwaine step forward next to him and could hear Leon and Percival shifting behind him.

Kilgharrah shook his head calmly. "It had to come from you Merlin; wholly and solely from you. If I had told you that such a feat might be possible, then it would have, no doubt, given you a sense a hope. That couldn't happen for while you are indeed powerful, when your power is used in unison to your heart it becomes ever stronger.

"Desperation and love are by far the most powerful emotions young one. You have proven that today by the countless number of lives you've saved. Only you, Emrys, would be able to do such a thing. But, I am glad that you stopped when you had, for it could easily have been the death of _you_."

Arthur snapped his eyes to the back of Merlin's head just as the man flinched slightly and bit his lower lip, remembering his earlier uncontrollable pain.

"It felt like it _was_."

The dragon chuckled. "Not yet Merlin; you still have many years ahead of you. Make the best of them... But I would advise you to _rest_ and not to use your magic for a while; you've used too much this day, and even Emrys has his limits. And I _am _sorry that I misled you."

Merlin smiled and nodded, his voice rough but full of delight. "You did what you thought was best. Thank you, old friend."

The Great Dragon nodded and opened his golden wings again but stopped, once more, when Arthur's rugged voice called him.

"Wait!"

Both Merlin's surprised eyes and Kilgharrah's knowing ones snapped to him and Arthur felt like a small boy again as the Great Dragon eyed him with large, wise eyes.

"Yes, young king?"

"You fought for us against Morgana," he said. "Why?"

Kilgharrah blinked. "You are both correct, and incorrect, young one. Incorrect, in that I fought for my Dragonlord, whom I have sworn my loyalty to and am bound to through our connection. But you are correct that I fought with you, for, as long as my Dragonlord is loyal to you, so am I."

Arthur quickly glanced at Merlin and wasn't surprised to find pride and love shining in them. It was no secret that Merlin was perhaps the most loyal person Arthur had ever known, and again, Merlin's desperate, tear-filled face filled his vision, and his eyes softened again as his already tender heart fluttered with brotherly affection.

Kilgharrah saw this and glanced between the two sides of the same coin, for they truly were brothers. Then he fixed his golden flecked gaze on his king and with eyes both full of love and soft protectiveness, said with a tender voice, "Take care of him, young Pendragon. For without him, all would have been lost many times over. There is not a man among you that does not owe the young warlock their life, but while Merlin's love has no bounds, I fear it could very well be his undoing."

Arthur didn't, for one second, disagree with the dragon's wise words and didn't object when Kilgharrah bowed his large head, once to him and once to Merlin, Aithusa copying his movement, and then spread his mighty wings and with a great upbeat that seemed to shake the very earth, took to the silver clouded skies.

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I hope you all liked it! :) Now, if you'll excuse me, I have yet to see 'The Drawing of the Dark,' and I have it loaded... So... *runs away* Oh, wait! *peeks around random and suddenly appearing door* Just a quick note... like I said, this is all pre-written except for a few added descriptions and dialogue here and there, so I don't think I'll be adding any spoilers from 5x11, even after I've seen, it into Part 3, this one, or Part 1. It'll just be generalized from what I got from the trailer. :)

I think I'll put Part 3 up on Wednesday, which gives me time to calm down from 5x11 (cause it takes me a while) and re-read through it! Thanks again to everyone, and please review! ^_^


	3. Unfolding Friendships

Disclaimer: IDOM, or Doctor Who since there's a smudge of 'Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead' in here... ;) Brownies to those who find it! :D

Alright, so I had this whole speech-thing planned... and I can't remember half of it. *facepalm* But anyway, thank you to everyone for reviewing, both those logged in and guests. You guy's are amazing! :D I loved reading every single review and they were all so wonderful and encouraging to read! So thank you. :)

On the subject of the season finale... *shakes head at self* I am so terrified and the anticipation is _horrible!_ I have never been good at handling anticipation (one reason I don't like roller coasters) and I just can't wait to see it. I'm so scared that they won't end it right but I'm trusting in Colin's interview that said all fans will be satisfied and happy with the ending... So yeah, very scared... ;D

Anyway, even if I'm not totally please with the ending (even though I'm sure I will be) I still have this... and again, thanks to everyone for reviewing. It feels so weird that this is the last part, geez, but I hope you like it! :D

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Merlin covered his already dirtied face with his arm as best he could against the sudden gust of wind and dust stirred up by both dragons' large wings and watched as Kilgharrah and Aithusa disappeared in the dark clouds above. There was moisture now, in the breeze, and banners snapped loudly in the wind as it pushed through people's hair, tugging at their ripped and filthy clothing as they gathered their countless fallen. Men could be heard talking in the distance but they gave the group a wide berth.

Then, and with sudden fear and anticipation pricking in his stomach, the warlock gripped his dirtied staff in anxiety and turned to face his king; prepared for his rebuking words and accusing topaz eyes. But before his own cerulean eyes could even focus on his friend's grime covered face, time seemed to slow and he felt a sharp pain explode around his cheekbone and spread throughout the left side of his face. He heard Gwaine's objecting call and then before he could even register that it had been Arthur who had struck him, he was almost knocked backwards as two chainmailed arms wrapped around him in a tight but careful hug.

Rich, honey-blonde hair filled his vision, and the pain in his cheek lessened to a small throb as he felt a burst of love grow in his heart. His beryl colored eyes visibly softened before he closed them and hugged his brother tightly back. He felt something smooth and wet slide down his face and lessen the weight that had been hanging on his long black eyelashes.

Merlin's full pink lips brushed against Arthur's blood-stained ear as his chin buried itself in his friend's cold and chainmailed back. "Y-you're not mad at me?"

Arthur paused and his gloved hand shifted the hair on the back of his friend's neck as he answered in a watery voice. "Of course I'm mad at you, you idiot. Why do you think I slapped you?"

Merlin let out a small breath of choked laughter. "But you're not really...?" He could have ended that sentence with any synonym of 'angry' and the resulting answer still would have been the same.

"No... of course not."

The trembling that had first begun in Merlin's legs quickly traveled up his spine and spread throughout Merlin's whole body as his tears of relief and joy came in earnest. The warlock probably would have fallen to his knees had Arthur not been holding him tightly against him. And then Arthur hugged him even tighter as a soft sob shook Merlin's slim body. A tear slid out of his own blue eye, and he sniffed before pulling back, keeping his hand on the nape of his friend's neck and tilting his own head forward so that their foreheads were near touching before looking Merlin in the eye.

Moisture gathered there and made the honey-gold tresses show ever-more, like they'd always belonged there. And nestled in those cavernous, emotion-filled, tanzanite blue eyes was a conglomeration of intense love, severe gratefulness, and unadulterated hope. Arthur then rested both of his hands on Merlin's still trembling shoulders and squeezed as another tear leaked out of Merlin's tender blue eyes.

"Merlin," he began softly and with an affection that continued on throughout his speech, "_thank you_. I am _so_ proud of you, my friend. Your stupid dragon was right; without you," here he looked Merlin pointedly in the eye to make sure the warlock knew that Arthur believed every word, "all would have been lost, and I know that I myself owe you my life _many _times over."

The young warlock seemed to shake with renewed force and a bright, watery smile lit his face before his expression tightened again and a small lit dimmed in his stormy blue eyes. "W-what about my magic? You h-hate magic..."

Arthur shook his blonde head slowly and pulled Merlin into another tight hug, tight enough so that Merlin knew that it wasn't being forced but mindful of whatever injuries he might have. "I don't _care_ about your _magic_ Merlin, really. There is _no other man_ that I would trust with such a power, and there is certainly no other man I would _wish_ such power for. If I have learned anything on this dreadful day, it is that magic _can_ be a force for good and that _you,_ Merlin, are the _greatest _force of good out of them all."

And every word was true; for Arthur knew that Merlin's kind and loving heart could never, and would never be influenced by Morgana's dark practices. And he knew that Merlin had one very large story to tell, but he also knew that whatever Merlin told him, nothing would sway him from the knowledge that Merlin was his most trusted friend for no one was perfect and everyone made their mistakes.

"You, single handedly, just healed _hundreds_ of people; _saved_ _hundreds_ of lives, _and _stopped another war! Now," his voice grew soft and caring once more, "how could I still think magic to be only evil, old friend?"

Merlin trembled and let out another soft sob and buried his face in Arthur's armoured neck as he clutched his friend, feeling absolute elation before sniffling. Arthur squeezed his eyes tighter and a few of his own tears escaped his watering eyes as he hugged Merlin closer to him momentarily before pulling back.

He left his hand on his friend's shoulder and smiled with shining eyes. "Come on, Merlin, let's get you back to camp; you're exhausted."

Merlin wiped at his blue eyes and sniffed. "I won't argue with you there, Arthur. I feel like I could sleep for a decade."

A bright smile graced the king's face but then he frowned again in concern as Merlin grimaced and tightened his grip on his staff as he shifted his weight. He grabbed hold of Merlin' elbow as if to steady him and studied the man. "Are you seriously hurt?"

Merlin's multi-faceted indigo eyes softened at the clear worry in Arthur's tight voice. "I think I might have sprained my ankle and taken on a few bruised ribs when I fought Morgana -"

"_Fought _Morgana?"

"Well I'm hardly handy with a sword, am I?" he grinned cheekily. "What else would battle magic, but magic? And speaking of which..."

Merlin's eyes traveled down to his left hip as he remembered the sword that still loyally hung in his belts' grasp. He grasped Excalibur's thick pommel and pulled it out of his thin leather belt, and even though the sun was long since blocked by silver clouds, the sword still seemed to shine with an unearthly glow.

He handed the sword to Arthur, who nearly gasped at the magic he felt flowing through it for the first time - Merlin's magic. There was no doubt about it as a wave of fierce protectiveness and kindness seemed to rush through him, and Arthur wondered, gaping, how he'd never noticed before. He stared in awe for a moment longer before smiling softly and sliding it into his own frayed belt where it truly belonged.

Arthur gestured to Merlin as he spoke. "But why didn't you heal yourself when you did the rest of us?"

Merlin yawned shortly and his lids seemed to flutter as he rolled his cerulean eyes as if they too, were being pulled by the slowly building wind. "I don't _know_, Arthur. It's _magic,_ and it's _complicated._"

Arthur laughed and clapped his friends arm. "Oh, I don't doubt that, my friend. Now, come on."

Arthur started to walk away, but before Merlin could so much as take one step towards his Once and Future King, he was bombarded and wrapped in a large, and this time rather painful hug, from Gwaine. After he gasped out that he couldn't breathe, the knight drew back and clapped his shoulder with sparkling eyes. Percival and Leon both gave him one-armed hugs, and all three of them thanked the warlock profusely for what he had done.

Out of his line of vision, Arthur pulled aside one of his knights and spoke to him about the arrangements for the dead. It was decided that they would build a giant funeral pyre with what little time they had left before the oncoming thunderstorm. After the arrangements were made, he sent the knight off and put him in charge before turning back to his friends.

Merlin could see Arthur smiling with pride behind the men and smiled widely back as they talked amongst themselves. Then Merlin stepped towards his king, and the Knights followed closely behind as they trekked the mile back to camp, recounting their tales of the battle in high-pitched, happy voices. They were really all just thankful to be _alive_.

During the expanse of the trek, the group talked, or rather, Leon, Percival, and Gwaine talked. Merlin and Arthur just walked side by side in silence and glanced between themselves and the rest of the group every so often with amusement and mirth lighting their respective blue eyes.

Merlin learned that it had been, in fact, Gwaine who had struck Mordred down after he'd attacked Arthur, and that before the druid died, he'd used his magic to drive his own sword into Gwaine's torso. He recalled the magic he'd sensed in the knight and was sound in the knowledge that Mordred could never again hurt any of his friends with his false friendship.

And then when they'd finally reached camp, food and water were all shoved in Merlin's direction as he wearily sat down. A small fire was built, and as the tangerine flames flickered in the wind, Merlin treated his ankle as best he could with the supplies he'd brought. Only then did he eat and only when, after much protesting, the others ate too, and it was then that the questions were asked.

Merlin smiled and answered their questions in full, giving a short, abridged version of his magic and then going more into depth about the battle and what he'd know of it beforehand. The knights responded to his story with respectful awe and reacted exactly how they were expected to when they learned of not only Mordred's destiny, but of the intense pressure Merlin was under when he faced it all alone - with cringes and sad but sometimes furious faces.

Arthur was, by far, the most affected by Merlin's story. He realized he had so much to make up for, and he promised himself to never let Merlin out of his sight and certainly to never let him go through anything alone _ever _again.

But even as Merlin narrated his account and as Arthur was both rocked by intense shock and elevated with severe pride, he could never find it within himself to be angry at his servant because maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep inside himself... he already knew. Maybe it was because his heart had worked it out years ago and Destiny had never let the knowledge reach his mind, waiting for this specific moment in time for Merlin's secret to be revealed.

He didn't know, but when a sentry arrived an hour later, he didn't want the tale to stop. And then, when he stood respectfully next to his younger brother and most trusted knights a few minutes after that in front of the massive funeral pyre, all he could think about was how he could make up for Merlin's loyalty and dedication as the smell of a hot fire and burning flesh was carried away by the biting wind.

A few hours after that, and when everyone was tucked safely into their dark and woven tents, the silvery-black sky broke open like a ripped seam. Thunder shook the very earth and white lightening stuck the earth and lit the sky as a veil of dark rain poured down slantways and cleared the battlefield of any lingering scarlet or crimson. In weeks to come, no one would be able to guess that a great and fateful battle had taken place there when the tall wheatgrass that had previously occupied the battleground grew healthy and strong once more. They would only know of it from the stories.

Arthur watched over Merlin that night as he slept peacefully through it all. The young man even had a small smile on his blithe face as he dreamed, and Arthur knew that, at long last, a great and burdensome weight had been lifted off his friend's shoulders at that, at long last, Merlin was at peace.

After trying and then giving up on sleep himself, the restless king sat at the writing desk and started composing a short letter to Guinevere about what had transpired that day, careful not to directly state 'Merlin has magic' but word it so that Gaius would understand once she'd shared it with him as Arthur was sure the queen would.

And then, as the colorful daylight broke beautifully on the mountainous horizon and a heavy and thick grey fog settled on the land from the storm the night before, and Merlin still, didn't stir once, Arthur sent his letter to off to Camelot with a trusted messenger, who'd been told not to tell anyone what had happened but to deliver the message to the queen, wait for a reply, and then ride immediately back.

He expressed his concern about Merlin's not waking to the knights when they came to check on the warlock, and they assured him, with proud and knowing, yet cautiously worried eyes, that the dragon had said that he'd be tired and that he was probably just sleeping it off. Arthur decided to wait for him to wake to his own before they traveled back to Camelot. No one objected, glad for the rest.

The knights proved to be right as, just as the sun began to dip down below the horizon in a splash of lavender and fuchsia, Merlin woke and slowly stretched his limbs with a loud yawn before standing. He was immediately taken aback by an immediate hug from Arthur and then again by another relieved hug from an equally worried Gwaine. Merlin himself smiled broadly and laughed when he found out that he'd slept throughout the day but was deeply touched by their concern.

And then, as Arthur sat and laughed around a roaring campfire with Merlin and his knights, eating a hearty dinner of stew - which Merlin practically inhaled - the messenger returned with a quickly written, and yet carefully worded, letter from Gwen.

In short, it said that word was already spreading through the kingdom like wildfire about the truce and that the people couldn't be more pleased. Then, when he reached a section of the note that was still clearly Guinevere's flowing cursive but definitely not her own words, he showed the manuscript to Merlin who nearly choked on a piece of beef as he fisted a slender hand and put it to his mouth to stifle his laughter as his eyes crinkled with mirth. He less than delicately swallowed and assured Arthur that he was fine and that, yes, it had definitely been Gaius who'd told her to write that, and that, yes, everything was alright. Arthur had just rolled his topaz eyes but didn't press; he trusted him.

That night, everyone slept soundly, snug in their beds and the next day when morning broke purplish-blue on the horizon, they all set off for Camelot. The journey itself through the snaking woods was uneventful and they had to camp one more night in the thickly forested countryside before reaching Camelot's white-stoned gates early the next afternoon.

The entourage was met by cheering, citizens waving red and yellow flags with bright smiles on their faces, for, while they inevitably mourned those fallen in battle, they celebrated those who had been returned to them.

It seemed like too long before they rode into the courtyard and Arthur spotted his cherished wife. He remembered how close he'd been to never seeing her again, and felt another burst of gratefulness towards his brother and smiled even wider as his soft blue eyes watered slightly. And then when he finally pulled his brown horse to a stop a few feet from the steps, he jumped off the leather saddle and ignored the clapping council members on the stairs above, meeting his running wife halfway and pulling her into a tight and tear-filled embrace as her feet left the cobblestone ground.

"I was _so_ worried!" she breathed with relief right before kissing him passionately. Then she pulled back, and her soft chocolate brown eyes met Arthur's light blue ones and they both, in unison and as if struck by a sudden remembrance of_ why_ Arthur was alive, looked to their right just as Merlin pulled back from a tear-filled reunion with his guardian.

And then suddenly, a smiling and half-crying Guinevere pulled away from Arthur's loving embrace as her deep brown hair bounced and leapt into Merlin's, not caring in the least what people would think of a queen hugging a servant. But then again, he wasn't just any servant. Not to them anyways.

Merlin smiled wider than ever before, and his topaz eyes danced with tender affection as he hugged his oldest friend tightly against him as a small tear escaped his now-closed eye. He knew from the letter that she knew, and he knew from the embrace that she didn't care…

Gaius walked to Arthur and quickly embraced him with proud, laughing grey eyes, and then when they pulled back with mutual smiles the size of Camelot herself, they started laughing anew when the queen pulled back and began covering Merlin's blithe face with chaste kisses as she held it between her lithe hands.

"She knows," Arthur guessed with a compassionate smile, "about what he really did?"

Gaius folded his hands in front of him and his blue-grey eyes softened as he nodded. "She knows that he saved you all and that he has magic; you're cryptic letter peaked her curiosity and then I had to tell her everything. But," he said as he looked Arthur full in the face with a mischievous smile and pointed eyebrow, "we still do not yet know what _truly _happened."

Arthur felt a new surge of love for his wife and how she didn't seem to care in the least about Merlin's magic and how she treated him the exact same - which is what Arthur knew Merlin had feared the most - and instead only cared that he was _alive_ and well.

Arthur looked at the man who had always been a second father to him with something like exasperation flitting about in his joy filled ocean-blue eyes. "It's a long story."

The physician laughed and seemed to take a double meaning to the phrase as he beamed. To Arthur, it seemed as if the physician was a good decade or two younger, and Arthur knew that Gaius, too, had carried the weight of Merlin's destiny on his own shoulders. Arthur's aquamarine eyes filled with the most heartfelt respect, and he smiled at the still-laughing physician once more.

A few hours later, after Arthur had spoken with the council and abbreviated the terms of the truce and the treaty that was to be made, he still hadn't revealed Merlin's magic to them - even though he was sure that the hundreds of men that had returned from the battle would already be spreading the story throughout the city -, and after Gaius had treated Merlin's own injuries and wrapped his ribs, the Privy Council met in the royal chambers and ate whilst Merlin told his epic story once more, this time in greater detail.

Hearts were warmed with happy, sometimes giddy, laughter that night as they heard the full story for the first time, and still, Arthur, nor anyone else it seemed, could feel it in their hearts to be mad at the imperfect warlock at anything; not even when they heard his largest mistakes. And so instead of the shouting matches and defensive words that Merlin had always imagined when his magic – his _failures_ -were revealed, they cried together; Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Gaius, and even the knights shed a few warranted tears.

They were already well into the night and well through several pitchers of red wine before they even started to speak of the battle on the plains of Camlann. It started with when Merlin had been given a vision on their way to Ismere of Arthur falling by Mordred's hand and then when he had been later alone with the Diamar and how she told Arthur that he, himself, would be his own bane, or destruction. The audience cringed at that story alone.

Then it slowly built up to when he had, unknowingly, first found Alator's abandoned camp and when, later, Finna had found him.

He spoke of her story and how she'd come to help him after he'd been shot with an arrow by Morgana's pursuing men and how she was meant to help him fulfill his destiny by delivering an important message before telling him not to trust the druid boy. She had then given her life to save Merlin's in that god-forsaken tower and then Merlin spoke of how he'd called Kilgharrah with his remaining strength and how the dragon had saved and healed him of his injury - in which Guinevere insisted at seeing the wound to make sure he was alright, and when Merlin did remove his brown jacket and lifted his red tunic, they were all amazed to find no scar, but didn't once question the truth of his story.

Then came how Morgana had openly declared war on Camelot and the full truth about Mordred and the extent of his betrayal after Arthur had killed the woman he loved and how he, out of spite, had turned to Morgana in anger and had given away Merlin's true identity as Emrys as accommodation of her broken trust in him.

And consequently, and inevitably, came the tale of the great battle upon the plains of Camlann itself. Leon, Percival, and Gwaine all took turns telling their personal rendition of the conflict but stopped at the point of when they'd been struck down. Arthur then, spoke of his own experience upon the battlefield and the terror and betrayal he'd felt when Mordred's sword had pierced his armor and when he'd fallen to his knees as Merlin had seen in the vision.

Merlin felt anxiety flutter like butterflies in his stomach when it came his turn, but with a squeeze of his hand from a tear-filled Guinevere and slow but encouraging nod from both Gaius and Arthur, and even the way the knights seemed to lean in ever so slightly in anticipation, gave him strength and he carefully told them what had, from his point of view, taken place that calamitous day.

He took a drink of his water - because he'd stopped drinking the wine once his mind had started to fog - and began with how he'd woken up only to be knocked out once more by the pommel of Arthur's sword. Merlin explained how that had been a self-fulfilling prophecy in itself and how, even though Arthur's intentions were honorable, he thereby became his own bane by unknowingly getting rid of his protector.

The warlock began again with how he'd first woken up afterwards and used the aging spell to don the identity of Emrys, "or Dragoon the Great," Merlin joked, bringing small smiles to their faces, and then how he'd called Kilgharrah and fought the Saxon's with his magic, searching for Arthur, and how he'd, inescapably, came to Morgana's attention. The listeners winced. He reminisced in great detail the epic magical battle they'd fought – several gasps were heard - and the sounds that could be heard from their respective dragon's battling above them and the intense fear he'd felt throughout it all.

He spoke of the injuries he'd sustained and the injuries he'd dealt to Morgana, namely the ball of fire he'd thrown at her that had taken her down before Merlin had refocused his attentions on finding Arthur and searched the plains far and wide. He told them how he never did - getting depressed sighs from the knights and Gaius and a soft sob from Guinevere - and how the battle slowly died around him as he watched men fall on both sides, and the pain he felt when even the battling dragon's fell. He painted a picture of the carnage and destruction they'd never seen with his words.

And then, as a tear fell down his porcelain face and slid down his high cheekbone, he took a deep breath and continued onto how he'd been reunited with Morgana and how she'd -how _he'd _- succumbed to fate and how he'd finally become her doom, as the Calyx said he would as he finished her off with Excalibur. He spoke of his heartbreak at finding Arthur dying as a pool of blood spread beneath him and the conversation they'd had.

Here, he stumbled several time in his story and, inevitably, more tears fell in earnest as his hands trembled. His words were barely identifiable between his hitching breath, and Gwen's own body shook with sobs, and they squeezed each other's hands for courage until they turned white.

The warlock continued with a less-than-steady voice about the smallest and last shred of hope he'd had left when he'd asked Kilgharrah how to heal Arthur and how even that had been taken away from him in the end, leaving him feeling hollow.

Through his words, the listeners felt his every pain, his desperation, and his hopelessness at the Great Dragon's words and how, in the end, when all he wanted was for it to end, he gathered his magic within himself and drew it from the very air until it became painful and how he directed it towards his one last thought; heal.

Here, the knights picked up about what happened and what they'd felt through the healing and the bubble of protectiveness and compassion that they'd felt encased in. Arthur and Gwaine spoke of the shock and surprise they'd felt when they'd awoken - fully healed from their respective fatal injuries - and found none one other than Merlin standing in front of the supposedly dead Great Dragon with his arms spread, head facing the blood-stained sky, and eyes burning the color of magic itself as the very air around him glowed the same, though transparent, color.

They told them - Gwen and Gaius - about how Merlin had healed everyone, including the dragons, before focusing his magic on the skies themselves and clearing them of the staining crimson and how even when he thought all seemed lost, Merlin had been the one to save them all, again.

Merlin, ever modest, blushed furiously as they spoke with reverence of his feat and how, when soldiers of Camelot and the Saxon's began a verbal fight once more, Merlin, assisted by Kilgharrah, broke it up and of they spoke of the extraordinary and heart-stopping speech Merlin gave that eventually led to Kenneth McAlwin's mutual wish to end the fighting.

They explained when had then transpired between Merlin and the dragon and the secret knowledge that Kilgharrah had held about Merlin's exceptional powers – his love and magic - and the reasons for it before telling them how he'd spoken briefly with Arthur and the affection Kilgharrah had had throughout the whole affair and then how he'd, rather dramatically, flown away with Aithusa into the dark clouds.

Gwaine, grinning wickedly, paraphrased what Arthur did once Kilgharrah had flown away and was slapped on the arm by his still-watery eyed wife.

Merlin grinned broadly and laughed, feeling a natural high through his cleansing tears that had nothing to do with the wine when he and Arthur summarized the conversation they'd had together and Arthur's acceptance of him and his magic, and as the final parts of the story were put together as if Destiny had finished her great puzzle, the first tresses of pinkish-blue daylight filtered in through the open window and a soft breeze caressed the tear-tracks on their faces and pulled on their weighty eyelids.

Slowly the group broke up until only Merlin, Guinevere, Arthur, and Gaius were in the royal chambers and Gaius stood as Merlin did and wrapped his ward in a tight hug, mindful though, of his ribs.

"I am _so_ proud of you, Merlin," he said slowly.

Then Guinevere encased Merlin in her own tearful hug and cried softly on his shoulder as he did the same on hers. "We all are," she said, agreeing to Gaius' statement.

They finally broke apart and Arthur once again hugged the trembling warlock before pulling back and ruffling his raven-black hair. "Yes," he agreed, smiling proudly, "we are."

Merlin let out a shaky breath of laughter and swore his heart had never felt lighter. "Thank you, all of you."

It was that night that the two sides had truly became one coin.

In the months that followed, a treaty was indeed drawn up with the Saxon's kingdom that ensured peace and their delegate, Kenneth McAlwin to their surprise, even became their leader through popular vote. Apparently, he was well-liked throughout his kingdom and was the most logical choice for their king, even if he wasn't of noble birth.

And, even more importantly to Arthur, magic and the dragons were slowly returned to the kingdom as the druids came and went freely and without fear and even more hidden dragon eggs were found and hatched. Camelot's citizens, most of whom already knew of Merlin's selfless and caring heart, were slowly told the full truth of what happened on the plains of Camlann and welcomed their warlock with open and, largely, loving arms.

Of course, there was opposition to the returning of magic, but those that didn't welcome the change either left or were slowly brought around to it as they witnessed Merlin's generous and random acts of kindness.

And it was on such acts of selflessness, compassion, and love, as well as a few acts of protectiveness and defense that Albion itself was slowly constructed; an accomplishment that many had thought forever impossible On the conjoined and selfless efforts of Strength, of Courage, of Wisdom, of Love, of Loyalty, of Glory, and of course, of Magic, they built a kingdom that would never fall.

And of course, Merlin and Arthur's story was told throughout the ages and inevitably, details went awry and small technicalities were stretched and bended and exaggerated on, but the essence and lessons of the tale stayed the same.

That heart of the story being that no matter how desperate and bleak the situation seems, there is _always_ hope; through love, and friendship everything works out, and the admonition being that even the most seemingly ordinary person can save a life and change the world and that sometimes… not everyone dies, because the story of Merlin's unforgettable feat always ended the same;

That the prophets did not lie and that Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King of Camelot and now-ruler of Albion, met his end on the cold plains of Camlann that ruinous and blood-stained day as the trumpets sounded, and that his best friend - his _brother_ - Merlin Emrys, the then-last of the Dragonlords, beloved protector of Camelot and of her Once and Future King, and the first Court Warlock of Camelot in a great many years, _saved him._

* * *

*bites knuckle, holds breath* Did you like Part 3? I think I might have cried while I wrote it (again, I'm a sob). But did _you_ cry? *evil grin* But anyway, I obviously (and probably rather selfishly) really hope that it ends like this. I'm really proud of myself for it and it's definitely my favorite out of my stories right now. Again, absolutely flattered by everyone who said they hope it ends like this, and I guess we'll have to wait and see what happens. Grr, there's that dreaded anticipation again... ;P

Oh, and, if you didn't understand the 'then-last Dragonlord' bit, I just wrote it meaning that he's not the Last Dragonlord anymore. Hm... perhaps Freya came back...? ;) Sorry, guilty pleasure... I will forever ship Freylin! :)

I can't think of anything else to say... But anyway, please review! I humbly await to hear (well, read) what you thought of it!


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